Capturing that look on the cat’s face
was the best photo ever. Got the cream,
got the mouse, even the dog stunned, speechless.
And echoing in my hallways,
silence. Like a long, stretching yawn.
It dawned on me at last that this was it.
Social decay. Personal, though, so the
crowd couldn’t see through the mist of
endless smiles and tinny laughter.
Champagne corks still blew
circles into ceilings. And the plaster
Never mind, the cat was happy. (Still) left black
hair on white leather. Sharpened claws on the door
The cat got the cream, got the mouse.
© Jacqui Thatcher 2015